eyond healing-- 80
Now grow together on the ceiling!
That will task your wits.
Whoever it was quenched fire first, hoped to see
Morsel after morsel flee
As merrily, as giddily ... 85
Meantime, what lights my sunbeam on,
Where settles by degrees the radiant cripple?
Oh, is it surely blown, my martagon?
New-blown and ruddy as St. Agnes' nipple,
Plump as the flesh-bunch on some Turk bird's poll! 90
Be sure if corals, branching 'neath the ripple
Of ocean, bud there, fairies watch unroll
Such turban-flowers; I say, such lamps disperse
Thick red flame through that dusk green universe!
I am queen of thee, floweret! 95
And each fleshy blossom
Preserve I not--safer
Than leaves that embower it,
Or shells that embosom--
From weevil and chafer? 100
Laugh through my pane then; solicit the bee;
Gibe him, be sure; and, in midst of thy glee,
Love thy queen, worship me!

--Worship whom else? For am I not, this day,
Whate'er I please? What shall I please today? 105
My morn, noon, eve, and night--how spend my day?
Tomorrow I must be Pippa who winds silk,
The whole year round, to earn just bread and milk.
But, this one day, I have leave to go,
And play out my fancy's fullest games; 110
I may fancy all day--and it shall be so--
That I taste of the pleasures, am called by the names
Of the Happiest Four in our Asolo!

See! Up the hillside yonder, through the morning,
Someone shall love me, as the world calls love; 115
I am no less than Ottima, take warning!
The gardens, and the great stone house above,
And other house for shrubs, all glass in front,
Are mine; where Sebald steals, as he is wont,
To court me, while old Luca yet reposes; 120
And therefore, till the shrub-house door uncloses,
I--what now?--give abundant cause for prate
About me--Ottima, I mean--of late,
Too bold, too confident she'll still face down
The spitefullest of talkers in our town. 125
How we talk in the little town below!
But love, love, love--there's better love, I know!
This foolish love was only day's first offer;
I choose my nex